I Would
by Verdreht
Summary: They all had their ways of coping. Some just had more to cope with than others. One-shot. Est. Gwaine/Leon


Camelot was quite that night. Even the birds seemed to hold their songs, paying their own tribute of silence to the great loss that had been suffered that day.

The people were likewise soundless. People passed one another in the streets with little more than a solemn nod; servants made nary a noise as they went about their business in the castle.

But none were more quiet than the Knights, and none more so than the Knights of the Round Table. For them, the loss of Lancelot was not the loss of a Knight…of a protector…of an idol. It was the loss of a brother.

They all had their means of coping. Elyan made for his forge, intent on working out his emotions on a piece of pliant metal near a burning fire. Percival went to the practice field to abuse some dummies. As for Leon, he had a far less…violent way to cope. He'd gone about the rest of his evening as fairly usual. He'd eaten dinner, read through several reports from patrols – they'd accumulated into quite the stack during the chaos of the Darocha – and around midnight, was preparing himself for bed. And Gwaine…well…

"Sir?"

Leon looked up from his desk to see a servant at his door. "What is it?"

The servant looked uncomfortable, striding forward and handing a note to Leon. He didn't speak as Leon unfolded the paper. His eyes scrolled the two lines that comprised the note.

_Sir Leon—_

_ Your presence is needed in the Rising Sun tavern._

"Who gave you this note?"

"A guard stationed near the area, sire. Apparently there is a…situation that needs resolving, and the guards thought it best they send for you."

He would've liked a less vague answer, but he assumed it was of some importance, for word to be sent to him on the night of…

Clearing his throat (and his mind), he rose, tucking in his shirt and pulling on his coat. He couldn't be bothered with his chainmail, but he did buckle his sword belt around his waist, in case whatever "situation" this was could not be resolved peaceably.

With a nod to the servant, he made his way out of his chambers and to the castle stables. The tavern was not long away, but he meant to get there quickly.

Leon dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching post outside the tavern. Already, he could hear what sounded like a fight inside. Raucous shouts and swears and loud crashes echoed dully through the door, and Leon steeled himself for what was likely to be a very unpleasant scene.

He pushed open the door, and found he was right. The tavern was in chaos. Only…not everyone was fighting. In point of fact, hardly _anyone _was fighting. Instead, they seemed to be gathered around in a sort of circle around the center of the tavern, at least six men deep at the entrance all around the perimeter. The shouts had come from the onlookers, no doubt; they were heckling and hollering like fools.

Intent on getting to the bottom of this, Leon elbowed his way through the crowd. At first he got some dirty looks, but most recognized his face and knew to stand clear. Finally, he pushed between the last two men in his way to the center of the circle.

He wasn't sure whether to be alarmed or annoyed by what he saw.

In the very center of this circle of townsfolk was the fight that Leon had been certain he'd heard. It seemed to be made up of six men at his count, though two of them were on the ground, apparently unconscious. Of the remaining three, two looked to be thugs. One big man, one average-sized one, all dirty with scarred faces and crooked snarls. The blades in their hands were plenty to confirm their ill-intent, and it all seemed to be directed at the remaining man.

As for the third man…Leon needed only to see the shoulder-length black hair and the trademark leather vest to know precisely whom it was. Gwaine.

He'd arrived just in time to see Gwaine deflect a run from the smaller of his two attackers. He threw the man to the floor, his bare hands coming together to dust off as he eyed the other two.

He paced like a cat in a cage, tension beneath a casual swagger. "Come on, then, mate. Just you and me, then."

Yes, Leon thought. Just Gwaine, Thug, and Thug's sword. He couldn't let this go on.

"Gwaine!" he snapped, and the younger knight turned around. Leon could tell in an instant from the haze in his eyes and the lazy grin on his face that he was drunk. _Really_ drunk.

The grin grew and he threw his arms out. "Leon!" he greeted. "I'd offer you a drink, but I seem to have lost my table…"

Gritting his teeth, Leon strode forward. It wasn't that he had any problems with Gwaine getting drunk. If a tankard of mead was Gwaine's forge or training dummy or stack of reports, then more power to him. It was when he started such a ruckus and made a fool of himself – and, by extension, the Knights of Camelot – that Leon drew the line.

He strode forward, grabbing Gwaine by the top of his arm. "We're leaving," he said and started to drag the smaller man towards the door.

Gwaine pulled back away from him, dragging his feet as much as he could manage. "Got one more thing to take care of…should only be a minute." With surprising dexterity for one so drunk, he twisted his arm free and turned back for the fight. "Now," he said as he squared back up with the thug, "where were we?"

Something told Leon that he wasn't going to get Gwaine out of this without letting him finish what he started. And besides, what was one more man when he'd already floored three? Besides, there was something there…a certain ferocity underneath his usual roguishness. Something this man had done had incensed Gwaine, and though Leon knew the younger man did tend to get himself into fights, he didn't generally do things without reason. He was young, after all…brash, but noble, and Leon found he'd developed a particular soft spot for the youngest of the Knights of Camelot.

So, he resigned himself to watching this one last fight play out. Even drunk and unarmed, he was certain Gwaine could handle his last opponent. The man was brilliant on a battlefield, after all, but un_rivalled_ in a bar fight.

The first strike, Gwaine dodged. The second, the same. Each thrust of the man's sword was met by a haphazard duck or twist that somehow had the blade skirting inches from his skin. It was like some crude dance.

And then Gwaine took his turn. After one particularly quick lean to the side to avoid a strike, Gwaine threw a punch that caught the man directly in the chin. As he staggered back, Gwaine walked forward, knocking the man's pitiful sword block out of the way with the back of his arm and driving a kick forward into the man's round gut.

The man fell back into the crowd, but they were all too happy to push him back up. He came at Gwaine again, teeth pulled back around a snarl as he swung his sword at Gwaine's neck.

Duck. Rise. Punch.

Only this time, the man punched back. He caught Gwaine square in the face, and Gwaine's head cracked to the side. Leon saw him spit blood and wanted to step in, but no…he couldn't. He had seen that look in Gwaine's eyes before. When he'd attacked those "nobles" during the melee's…when he'd pledged his life to Arthur.

This was a matter of pride…it was a matter of heart.

As the thug laughed, Gwaine dragged his hand across his bloody mouth and nose. Leon was almost horrified to see the grin stretch across his face, showing off rows of blood-covered teeth. Between the thug's laugh and Gwaine's grin, it was the latter that Leon knew would curdle his blood.

"Shame about the pretty face," said the thug as he threw another punch, this time to Gwaine's ribs, hard enough to double him over. "Perhaps you'll be the next fool they throw to the flames."

And suddenly, Leon knew the reason for the fire in Gwaine's eyes.

The youngest Knight of the Round Table straightened, his hand holding his side. Leon was alarmed to see red dripping between his fingers. But Gwaine only smiled wider. "If dying for Camelot means being a fool, then I'd rather die a noble fool than scum like you."

This time, when the man swung his sword, Gwaine stepped inside the blow, and in a single fluid motion, drove his elbow down into the side of the man's head.

He crumpled like a marionette with severed strings.

Gwaine stood for a moment, staring down at him, and then turned around to Leon with a grin on his face. "Now, we can go," he said. He made it about three steps, nearly to Leon, when he legs seemed to buckle. Leon managed to catch him, and Gwaine let out a rasped chuckle as he pulled Gwaine's arm over his shoulder.

He started to walk Gwaine out, but then he heard something behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the thug pushing himself onto his knees.

"You think you're better than us?" he roared, his eyes fixed on Gwaine's back. "You're no noble! You're nothing! A stray dog the king took in for his convenience."

Gwaine didn't seem to care what he said. Didn't seem to even hear him.

But Leon did. And Leon wouldn't stand for anyone to call _his_ Gwaine a dog.

Because perhaps it was a little more than a soft spot he had for the younger man.

Slipping Gwaine's arm out from around his shoulders, he turned towards the thug that dared insult not only his fallen friend, but the man that, if he were being honest with himself, he'd grown to love.

He didn't say a word as he approached; he reached down, grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him to his feet.

When they were staring eye-to-eye, he asked only one thing: "What would you know of nobility?"

And then he punched him in the nose.

Leon felt a strong sense of satisfaction as he watched the thug crumple, unconscious, on the ground. It occurred to him, though, that there was still a very drunk, possibly injured man he was meant to be looking after, so he didn't linger. Instead, he resumed his place at Gwaine's side, and together they walked out of the bar.

Well, Leon walked. Gwaine sort of staggered.

"My hero," Gwaine chuckled as they made it outside. Leon felt a shiver run through him and hoped it was just the cold night air. He hadn't gotten a chance to look at the wound on his side, and he didn't know if he might be going into shock.

"You didn't seem to need any saving," he replied.

Gwaine chuckled, but it was a sad sort of sound. Not so much bitter as lonely. "I never do."

Leon wasn't quite so sure of that. They'd reached the horse, though, and as Leon had no intention of trying to sort Gwaine out there on a public street, he wanted to get him to the castle.

"Up you go," he said.

Gwaine looked at the horse, then back to Leon. "You brought a horse? Really? It can't be more than a ten minute's walk to the castle."

"Hauling you? Those ten minutes would look more like twenty. Now, get on the horse."

Again, Gwaine looked at the horse. Down to the stirrup. Raised a foot. Swayed. Lowered the foot. Up to the saddle, and finally, down to the ground. His shoulders slumped.

Leon had never seen anything more pitiful. After a moment's quiet calculation, he mounted the horse himself, and held down a hand for Gwaine to take. Gwaine looked a little hesitant at first, but eventually, he reached up and clasped his arm.

It wasn't graceful by any stretch, getting Gwaine up into the saddle, but it worked, and finally Gwaine was sitting in front of Leon on the horse. There were some odd looks getting shot his way, but they were soon staring at his back as he kicked the horse on.

They'd only made it past a couple of buildings when he noticed Gwaine starting to tilt to the side. He wasn't sure if he was falling asleep or if it was just drunken coordination, but he didn't like the idea of him falling off, so he slipped an arm around his waist.

His hand met Gwaine's, blood-slicked and holding tight to the wound on his side.

He urged the horse on a little faster.

Getting Gwaine up the stairs proved to be an adventure. He was staggering and leaning, and it was only Leon's arm around his waist and the support he offered that seemed to keep him on his feet.

"Just a bit longer," he said, steering him through the last corridor. Finally, they reached the door Leon knew to give way to Gwaine's chambers, and he pushed it open, walking Gwaine inside. He barely managed to get the smaller man over to his bed before fatigue won out.

As soon as his trousers touched the soft fabric of the bed, the rest of him seemed to go limp. He started to tip to the side, no doubt to sprawl out and bid the world adieu for a time.

Before he could, though, Leon stopped him. "No, you don't," he said. "Not yet."

Gwaine knotted his eyebrows. His bleary eyes looked confused, and combined with the bloody mess on his nose, the cut on his eye, and the split on his lip, it all came together to one very miserable picture.

"Need to get you cleaned up," Leon told him. As he spoke, he started on Gwaine's bracers, unlacing them and sliding each off his hands. Gwaine didn't protest…didn't even say a word. He just watched Leon work with tired eyes that Leon now noticed looked _awfully_ sad. His hands were limp in Leon's larger ones as he unwrapped the cloths Gwaine always wound around them.

Leon knew things were bad when Gwaine didn't even make a joke as he helped him out of his vest and shirt. Of course, there was little call for a running commentary, especially once Gwaine's chest was bared.

Suddenly, Leon felt a chill run through him that even the Dorocha had not brought about. It wasn't the sight that churned his stomach: the mass of bruises blooming over his left rib cage, the deep cut just above the same hip, the dozens of little cuts and blotches of blue and green and purple that marred his skin, or even the horrendous looking spread of color over the base of his back when he tipped him forward. It wasn't the wounds themselves that worried Leon the most…

It was the fact that he hadn't known they were there. The one on his back was days old at the very least, and some of the cuts were on their way to healing. The only wound still bleeding was the one on his hip; the rest had scabbed over already.

Wounds like that…they weren't life-threatening, but they weren't small either. They would've hurt; they would've hurt terribly.

And Gwaine hadn't said a damn thing.

In an effort to regain some of his composure, Leon rose to fetch a servant. He would need water, a cloth, stitching supplies, and bandages…some ointments wouldn't hurt. And quickly, he instructed.

By the time the servant had returned with the items he'd called for, Leon had more or less collected himself. His anger, his worry, his horror…all of that could wait until he'd gotten Gwaine patched up.

When he returned, he found Gwaine had taken advantage of his absence to fall over and curl into a ball on the bed. He'd managed to kick his boots off, but that was as far as he'd gotten.

Leon almost smiled. Like that, his knees tucked into his chest and his face free of its usual crooked grin or smirk, Gwaine looked…young. Too young, for someone with all those scars. Leon had never really considered everything he must've gone through to make it to this point, but he supposed it was only when all the rough was made smooth that you could appreciate just how much it had changed.

Sighing, he sat the supplies on the bedside table and laid his hand on Gwaine's shoulder. "Gwaine…Gwaine, you need to wake up."

The moment he laid a hand on his shoulder, Gwaine started away. His muscles tensed, and he went to sit up, but Leon's hand kept him in place.

"Easy," he said. "Easy...I didn't mean to startle you." He chuckled softly at the indignant look on Gwaine's face. Seemed even drunk, tired, and clearly in pain, he didn't take kindly to the word _startled_. "Slower this time…those ribs of yours won't take kindly to any sudden movements."

As Gwaine started to sit up, Leon gave him a hand, easing him off the bed until he was more or less sitting upright. Once he was sure that he would stay that way, Leon took the cloth from the basin of water and wrung it out.

Gwaine was silent as Leon began cleaning his face. With one hand around the back of his head to keep him from flinching back, he carefully wiped the blood from the cut above his brow, his nose, and his lip. Already, bruises were beginning to form beneath his eyes; the cut on his brow had started to swell. He would be sore for a while, then, but from the looks of things, stitches wouldn't be necessary.

At least, not for his face. His side on the other hand…Once Leon had gotten most of the blood cleaned away from it, he hung the cloth on the side of the bowl. "Put your hands on my shoulders," he instructed softly.

Gwaine did as he asked without a word – the silence was starting to worry Leon – resting his hands on Leon's broader shoulders and exposing his swollen ribs and the cut on his side.

Finally, though, as Leon prepared the stitching needle, Gwaine found his voice. "You don't have to do this."

The voice was so quiet and so utterly devoid of Gwaine's usual spark that Leon almost thought he'd imagined it at first. When he glanced up, though, and found Gwaine staring at him, he realized it hadn't been in his head.

"What are you talking about?"

"This…" Gwaine winced as the needle pierced his skin, his fingers tensing into Leon's shoulders "…looking after me. You don't have to."

"I suppose you could do the stitches yourself, then?"

"That's not what I meant."

Leon thought as much. He kept his eyes on his work, neatly stitching the long, thin wound at Gwaine's hip closed. "I know what you meant, Gwaine. And you're right…I don't have to do this."

"Then why are you?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

"Because you think I can't take care of myself?"

There was a bite to the words Leon hadn't been expecting.

"Because I know you _won't_ take care of yourself," he corrected firmly. "Clearly." The wounds that covered him now were proof of that.

"Hadn't gotten around to it," was Gwaine's gruff, offhand retort. "Haven't had the time."

"Then you should have made the time. You can't endure wounds like this."

"Seems I was doing an alright job of it."

Leon clipped the last stitch and straightened. "That's not the question, Gwaien."

"Then what the hell is?"

Frowning at the sudden outburst, Leon looked Gwaine straight in his hazel eyes and said, "Why did you even think you had to?"

At that, Gwaine seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped as much as they could with his hands still on Leon's, and his face fell. That question…didn't seem to be one he wanted to answer.

Which was too bad, because it was one Leon _wanted_ answered. "Gwaine," he prompted, "why didn't you tell us you were injured. These wounds – most of them – are from the quest to stop the Dorocha, aren't they? So, why didn't you tell us?"

"What would you have done if I had?"

Leon didn't even have to think about it. "I would have—_we _would have sent you home where you could…" Oh.

Gwaine seemed to notice the donning on his face. "Exactly." He chuckled bitterly, moving to check the stitches. Leon caught his hand before he could, and returned it to his shoulders as he set to bandaging the wound. As he did, Gwaine continued, "You'd have sent me away to hole up in Camelot, and I couldn't—I couldn't leave."

"You preferred to continue on in agony," Leon finished for him. He'd started wrapping Gwaine's ribs, pulling the bandages tight enough to support them.

"It wasn't that bad."

He said, with a wince on his face.

Leon frowned. "I've had a bruise like that one on your back. The way you're holding your shoulders…there's no sense in saying it doesn't hurt. I know better than that."

"Well, aren't you insightful?"

"I'm trying to help you, Gwaine."

"I don't want your help!" Gwaine snapped. He went to stand, and with the speed he was going, Leon had no choice but to stand with him. It was a good thing he'd finished tying off the bandages when he had. "I don't want your pity, I don't want your sympathy, and I sure as hell do _not_ want your protection!" As he shouted, he advanced on Leon. Even though he was shorter, he squared himself up as much as his sore upper body and alcohol intake would allow. There was hardly an inch between them as he glared Leon down. "You think this is my limit? This is nothing!"

"This is hardly nothing."

"It is to me!"

That edge…it wasn't _pride_ in Gwaine's voice, Leon realized. It was desperation. He was trying to convince someone of something, though Leon couldn't tell whom. Either way, he was starting to understand. This wasn't about Gwaine feeling insulted; this was Gwaine feeling…inadequate.

Leon's eyes softened. "What is this really about?" he asked.

"What do you think?"

"I _think_ there's something on your mind. I _think_ there's something you're afraid of…something you don't want to admit."

Gwaine snorted. "You _think_ wrong," he said, and started to turn back for the bed.

But Leon wasn't done with him. He grabbed him by the upper arm, spinning him around and holding him in place.

"Stop lying to me, Gwaine. What is it?"

"It's nothing." Gwaine gave his arm a tug, but Leon's grip was too strong. "Leon, you're going to want to take your hand off me."

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

"There's nothing you need to know," Gwaine said, giving his arm another pull, once again to no avail. He was getting angry, now, pulling and twisting and tugging, but Leon just held him tighter.

"What?" he demanded, his face so close to Gwaine's he could see the gold flecks in his eyes. "What is it you're ashamed of? It's not your blood; it's your words that nobility is in deed alone."

"Leave it, Leon."

"What is it, Gwaine? Have you got something to prove? Or is it something to hide? Is it Lancelot?"

"Stop!" Gwaine was desperate, wrenching and twisting. His face was a mask of anguish.

But Leon kept pushing. "Tell me! Why don't you think you're good enough?"

"Because I'm not!"

And there it was. It had slipped out; Leon could tell that much from the way Gwaine's eyes widened, the way the color drained from his face. He had his answer…now he just needed to understand it.

"Why?"

Now, Gwaine looked truly defeated. Bound in all those bandages, his hair tousled and face bruised, he somehow looked smaller in Leon's eyes than he ever had.

"I failed," Gwaine said. "I always do. I always muck things up."

"That's not true."

"You only say that because you try not to think about it." He ran a hand through his hair. "Think, even just pursuing the Dorocha…I almost got us killed by wildren in the cave. And then Percival had to keep me from getting killed by one of those…things. I meant to make up for it…when Merlin came back, I heard him talking to Arthur…I couldn't let Arthur sacrifice himself, and I couldn't let Merlin…Merlin was my first friend; I couldn't let him do that." The words were running free, now, as if out of Gwaine's control. It was almost…manic. "And Gwen would've been heartbroken if Elyan had gone through the veil. Percival saved my life, so I could hardly let him risk his own. Lancelot was always kind to me: a better man and a better knight than me. And you…I couldn't let it be you…I could never have let it be you."

It was breaking Leon's heart. There were tears in Gwaine's eyes, and Leon wanted nothing more than to make them stop…but Gwaine needed to get this off his chest.

"So I was going to do it. I meant for Lancelot to stay back with you…there were more wyverns, and I thought…but he came with us. That witch was talking…taunting us. I knew Lancelot would try…I knew everyone there was ready to sacrifice himself, and I couldn't let them…I tried to be first, but I ruined that, too! It's my fault! If it had been me, Lancelot wouldn't have died. If I'd just done it right, Lancelot would still be here. Arthur would have been safe, and it wouldn't have mattered! It should have been me!" he screamed. "I wanted it to be me! If it had been me, Lancelot wouldn't have died. He'd still be here…and no one would have had to cry like they did for Lancelot. I wouldn't have deserved their tears…no one would have cried for me."

That was it, then. Leon felt like he'd been kicked…all the breath was gone from his lungs, and all he could hear were those words echoed in his head. _It should have been me…no one would have cried for me._

Leon did the only thing he could; he wrapped his arms around the smaller man and pulled him close. He held him as firmly as he dared with his injuries, mindful of his badly-bruised back as Gwaine simply broke down. Months of fear and misery and self-loathing he'd hid behind that damn nonchalance of his had found its escape.

When he finally quieted a little, Leon pressed his lips to Gwaine's ear and whispered the one thing he could:

"I would."


End file.
